I’ve had too many revelations today for them to feel comfortable under my skin. The weight on my collarbone is eased only by its connection to my throat. Everything is closing over itself and my wings won’t spread behind me - they’re defective and wet and won’t solidify. I feel something crawling up my spine, connecting at the core of me and crawling up trying to work its way out my mouth. Everything is too much and too many to contain, my divinity spills from open orifices and pushes the closed ones open so yelloworangeredblue can spill from my eyes and lips and ears and arms. My head is a balloon, a tv tuned to a dead channel. There’s a vacancy behind my eyes - a gas station closed for business, closed for good on an abandoned desert highway that stretches on into eternity.